


The Well-Born

by pendrecarc



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner, Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:51:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendrecarc/pseuds/pendrecarc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Minister of War returns to his home planet to find that his wife has not been idle in his absence.</p><p>Crossover (Megan Whalen Turner/Vorkosigan Saga)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Well-Born

The Eddisian Minister of War loved his wife.

She was all the light in his life, he’d longed for her these five months and more, and the moment he set foot on Hephestian soil he wanted her back in his arms. Granted, he also wanted to shower in a space wider than his shoulders and to eat something more closely resembling food than what the Eddisian fleet optimistically called “rations”, but that could wait.

So, apparently, could she—at least, she was nowhere to be seen when he and his officers were received at the palace with all due pomp and ceremony. He was not a man much given to public expression of emotion, so he concealed his disappointment and impatience through the tedious formalities until at last he could slip off to find his children (how were there so _many_ of them?) and greet them with his usual reserved affection.

“And where is your mother?” he asked Stenides, the eldest, a quick lad of fourteen (Gods! How had that happened?) with a fondness for clever machinery and a knowing smile.

He turned the latter on his father now. “She’s just gotten back herself.”

The Minister of War hadn’t known she’d left. “Back from where?”

“Better ask her on your own,” Stenides said. His eyes were wide and far too innocent. “I think she’s in the temple.”

“I see,” said the Minister of War, who feared he saw all too well.

There was, of course, no need to ask which temple. He approached Eugenides’ house with a firm, quick step. The place was almost empty, the only movement inside that of a fresh-faced young acolyte who met him at the door. The boy recognized him and bowed, but there was no courtesy in the look of amused speculation he shot from under lowered lashes.

 _Impertinent_ , thought the Minister of War, mildly embarrassed; then, upon reflection, _Or perhaps he knows something I don’t._

What exactly that might be became obvious as he strode up the nave toward the dark-haired figure kneeling at the altar. Because sitting in pride of place among offerings of gold and copper, rich silks and rough homespun, was—

_Oh, gods._

The Minister of War was a brave man, but he knew incipient disaster when he saw it, and his heart quailed. “We missed you at the palace,” he said, once he could speak.

She turned her head at once, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. Her delighted smile flashed at him, but her palms remained flat on the altar, her body still turned away in an attitude he recognized as protective. “You’re back! I’m so glad.”

“You could have fooled me.”

The smile deepened. “I’m sorry. I had a dedication to make.”

“So I see. Dare I ask to which lady of this court I’m expected to make your apologies?” He’d been gone five months, so his data was behind the times, but still he found himself sorting through the possible sources of this…prize. Which of them could have piqued his beloved enough to merit this level of retaliation?

She shook her head. “Not of this court. I’ve been off-world, too.”

That was worse, if anything. “Which planet?”

“Jackson’s Whole,” she said, dimpling.

He did not have a heart attack on the spot, but it was a near thing.

“My dear,” he said with an effort, “what, in the name of all the gods—”

“I had a score to settle with Baron Bharaputra.”

“And is it…settled?”

“Very much so,” she assured him. “But as I was leaving, I took a shortcut through the laboratories, and I stumbled on simply hundreds of these.” She reached to lay one fine-boned hand on her latest offering to the God of Thieves. “I’d heard of those rooms, but to actually see it—I’ve never been so furious in my life. I had to do something.”

“Such a risk, for just one of hundreds?”

“Yes,” she said, a note of steel in her voice. “It was all I could carry, but it was better than nothing. And it will make a difference to this one.”

Unable to argue with this logic, the Minister of War stepped close to the altar and knelt beside his wife so his shoulder, hip, and thigh rested against hers. He could smell the faint scent of a mountain breeze in her hair. She moved one soft-booted foot to touch his ankle, and he sighed. “Is it human?”

“As much as you or I,” she said, leaning her head comfortably against his shoulder.

He frowned up at the silver cylinder. A row of soft green lights glowed back at him, and at the very base there was a name etched into the metal. He traced it with his fingertips.

“Galen,” he read.

Even through his tunic, he could feel the muscles of her cheek shift in another smile. “It caught my eye, you see. Should we name him after our dear court physician?”

“He might take it amiss,” said the Minister of War. “And if this other ‘Galen’ is somewhere out there in the Nexus, looking for his property, the last thing we want is to point him in the right—wait.” He pulled back and glared at her. She blinked beatifically back. “ _We_ are not naming anything!”

“You’re right, of course,” she said. “Not Galen. After the god, then? It’s only just, now that he’s been properly dedicated, and my father will be so pleased.”

“My dear,” he said, dangerously. Battle-hardened officers had learned to quake at that tone.

She laughed. “What did you think I meant to do with him?”

“This is out of the question.”

Each of them still rested their fingers on the uterine replicator, and now she reached between them to clasp his other hand in hers, completing the circle. “One more child, love,” she said, regarding him with formidable tenderness. “You have your soldier already. Let this last be mine, and the god’s.”

He tightened his fingers, and she matched his grip. At last he exhaled. “This is madness.”

“Brilliant madness,” she agreed, “and you’ll come around in time.”

“Will I?”

“Certainly,” she said. “You have two whole months, you know.” She raised her face to his, and he found himself willing to be persuaded.

The Minister of War loved his wife.


End file.
